[37] Have You Ever Disciplined Me

"Knights of the Round Table? Just a bunch of greenhorns. They dare to come, and I'll make sure they won't leave alive."

As the devourer of light, how could Vortigern, the vile king, hold knights in high regard, especially those seeking fame and glory?

A dead knight is a good knight.

With the appearance of the Round Table Knights, local lords and vassals gradually formed an alliance, and recent battle losses didn't look good.

But, what does the army's casualties matter to Vortigern? He didn't care about the life or death of the Saxons people, losses were losses.

It's like cutting chives, new shoots will grow.

On the other side of the sea, the Germanic tribes coveted the fertile land of Britannia. The incoming Saxons people would continuously replenish the king's army.

In the end, these plunder-loving barbarians were just useful tools in Vortigern's hands, livestock not worth cherishing.

"If they come to Londinium, I might consider them. Those disturbances... are just mosquito bites, not worth mentioning."

Vortigern sneered.

"Because your coming-of-age ceremony is approaching, I returned to give you a gift. I retracted the army's defensive line for your sake, but they really think it's their achievement."

Only in front of his son would the king speak so softly.

"Never mind, what's there to talk about with these small fries."

The tall and straight silver-haired old man sat at the table, smiling gently, waving to the young man.

"Come, Alvin. It's been a while. Let your father have a look at you."

A helpless smile appeared on his face.

Alvin walked up, bowed, and his father rubbed his son's head.

"You've grown taller, Alvin."

"I'm almost an adult, old man. As a dragonkind, reaching one meter eighty is pretty normal, right?"

Vortigern's sturdy figure already exceeded two meters. Alvin, inheriting the blood of the White Dragon, reached one meter six when he was eight. People and artificial beings couldn't be compared in physique.

"Hmm..."

Vortigern assessed the young man in front of him. Now, sitting down, he even had to look up.

... How time flies.

"Time waits for no one. Father still remembers when you looked like a baby in swaddling clothes. Fifteen years have passed in the blink of an eye."

The old man's gray eyes lowered slightly.

"In a few days, it will be your coming-of-age birthday. Is there any gift you want?"

"In these years, father is sorry. I haven't had much time to accompany you."

Rubbing his son's head, Vortigern smiled gently.

"Could it be that you want me, this old bone, to accompany you in sword practice?"

"Long time no see your swordsmanship. I'm a bit eager."

In Britannia, who could still surpass Alvin in swordsmanship now? Perhaps only his old man, the king, could do it.

Is it ten rounds now? Or is it evenly matched? Alvin felt the outcome was uncertain.

"However, let's talk about these entertaining matters later. I have two somewhat unpleasant requests."

"But feel free to say. Do you still need to be polite for your adult ceremony gift?"

Alvin smiled.

"I want to marry Lady Morgan."

As the words fell, Vortigern was visibly stunned.

The old man's expression froze for a moment. Then, with a somewhat ambiguous smile, he glanced at the witch sitting on the side.

"Good niece, you...?"

Morgan tightened her thin lips, glancing away, somewhat guilty.

'Alvin, I asked you to inquire subtly, not to be so straightforward.'

But then she thought, what's wrong with herself?

No, why should she feel guilty?

The witch stared back at him intensely.

"What's wrong with me?" Morgan emphasized that word, "Do you have any objections, old man?"

For her good uncle, Morgan had no respect.

The full-of-vices King Vortigern, she didn't spare him any curses. The two of them were old adversaries, constantly bickering without stopping.

Now, Morgan didn't bother acting, directly calling him an old man.

With one foot in the grave, there shouldn't be any problem.

The witch still harbored resentment. How did this old guy break her strong defense back then?

She was still pondering. How could she not remember? Her mind was preoccupied with figuring out how to squeeze Alvin dry in various ways.

But, on the contrary, her armor seemed to be getting looser.

How to put it, Alvin might be lacking parental love, so he liked to suck her... No, can't continue thinking about this.

"Once a year, I can't return home a few times. My son doesn't care anymore."

Thinking about this, Morgan said without good temper,

"Firstly, you are a father, and then you are a king, right? Vortigern, you're quite shameless. Truly, my good uncle."

This time... it was finally the dragon that couldn't hold back.

Unable to refute, he chose not to refute. Pretend you didn't hear it.

Vortigern made a tut-tut sound and looked away, glancing at his son.

"It doesn't matter how it's arranged. Just give me a word."

To marry Morgan, as Alvin's only relative in Britannia, of course, he had to seek his old man's opinion.

He did indeed regard Vortigern as his father, wholeheartedly.

The old man, upon hearing this, had a somewhat ambiguous expression, a smile that seemed to be a mix of amusement and irony.

"Can I say no?"

It's useless to refuse. After all, he is a filial son.

The witch seemed to have a mutual understanding with him.

"It's useless to disagree! Alvin is an adult now, you old man can't control him anymore!"

Morgan walked up, pulled the silver-haired youth away from Vortigern, and embraced him.

Indeed.

Even though she touched him everywhere every day, unconsciously, the little guy she once pinched had grown so tall.

He's a head taller than Alvin...

It's a bit difficult to hold him.

Sensing her struggling to close her arms, Alvin reached back and embraced the witch.

Being affectionate in front of Vortigern, Morgan, as a niece, felt a bit embarrassed.

However, the witch attempted to struggle but couldn't break free, so she let the young man hold her, blushing, and turned her gaze away.

In terms of physical strength, those who could surpass Alvin in Britannia were few. The witch experienced this every night.

"Well, speaking doesn't work on this old man..."

Vortigern smiled, stood up, walked over, and patted Alvin's shoulder.

"You chose it, and I can't do anything about it. Choose well and treat her well."

"Okay." Alvin nodded.

"Didn't we talk about two somewhat unpleasant requests? What's the other one?"

"I have a question for you, old man. You said that when I grew up, you would answer me."

As the words fell, a lingering echo filled the air.

The smile disappeared from Vortigern's face.

The atmosphere in the hall seemed to suddenly become cold and silent.

The candlelight flickered but couldn't dispel the intense gaze of the young man.

"What exactly is the decline of the age of gods, Father?"

He didn't call him Old Man, but Father, because he was serious this time.

No answer.

The old man closed his eyes and fell into silence.

Alvin just looked at him, quietly waiting.

The witch clenched the young man's hand.

The young man touched her smooth silver hair.

The firelight flickered.

But Alvin's determination never wavered.

After a while, the old man slowly opened his hazy eyes, revealing a tired gaze.

Not like the dragon.

Just a father.

Suddenly, the majestic aura of the so-called King Vortigern seemed to drain from his body.

"Do you really want to know, Alvin? You don't have to, actually."

"If I don't need to, I would be unworthy of being the son of the White Dragon."

The young man stared directly into his father's eyes.

"Without understanding your perspective, I cannot truly understand your heart. The pain and responsibilities that King Vortigern has experienced, if borne alone, don't you think it's a bit too much, Father?"

"Too much..." The dragon that devoured light lowered his heavy and dim eyes.

"Originally, I indeed am Vortigern, the king known for his vices. People call me cruel and tyrannical, but so what?"

"But you're different, you're still young, and you don't have to choose this path. What I am now is the future you can see."

"Even so, do you still want to hear the answer from me, this father of yours?"

"Alvin..."

"You don't care, and when have I ever cared?"

Alvin said softly,

"Whether you want to tell me or not is your business, but I want to hear it."

A second round of silence.

The rough hands with scars opened and closed, clenched and loosened.

Vortigern slowly opened his eyes, staring at his son.

"You're an adult now, and your wings are strong. I can't teach you anymore, Alvin."

Alvin smiled, a genuinely happy smile.

"You've never taught me anyway."